


Follow The Hopeless And Shut Your Eyes

by insanechayne



Category: House of Leaves - Mark Z. Danielewski, Walking Dead, Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Established Relationship, I regret everything, Long One-Shot, M/M, Well-done crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-09
Updated: 2013-11-09
Packaged: 2017-12-31 23:03:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1037434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insanechayne/pseuds/insanechayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>//Reading House of Leaves is not necessary to read this fic because I make everything pretty self-explanatory.//</p><p>Rick and Daryl are forced to run into the house on Ash Tree Lane to escape a horde of walkers, and therein come across the mysterious hallway. When the walkers start pushing their way into the house, the two men have no choice but to take refuge in the labyrinth for survival.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Follow The Hopeless And Shut Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ghost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghost/gifts).



> So I actually ended up freaking myself out while writing this. Probably because of the vivid mental pictures I received so that I could properly create the story.  
> Needless to say I won't be able to face complete darkness tonight, and will need to sleep with my TV on for light and sound and sanity. 
> 
> Anyway, yes I know this is a crossover, but it's a well-done crossover. How do I know it's well-done? Well, I'm the one who fucking wrote it, so of course it's going to be fucking amazing. 
> 
> I really hope you guys like this. It was honestly a lot of fun to write, even though I freaked myself out, so I hope it's as fun for you all to read.   
> Enjoy!

Daryl hears the growls first, loud and insistent on the other side of the front door. He takes a look through the peephole, expecting to see one, maybe two, hungry walkers on the other side; instead he sees a least ten or fifteen, piling up in front of the entrance.

“Shit.” He mutters under his breath, stepping back from the door.

“What is it?” Rick asks as he rounds a corner, stuffing some cans into his pack and trying to get it to close.

“Walkers outside. Looks t’be about fifteen of ‘em.” Daryl’s nimble fingers make quick work of Rick’s bag, pinching the ends closed as he pulls the zipper.

“Let’s go out the back; hopefully they won’t notice us.” Rick slings the pack over his shoulder, handing another to Daryl, who does the same.

Daryl nods at the man before him and they silently move toward the back of the house, exiting through the kitchen they have just raided and the back door, which opens up onto a spacious backyard with a low fence around it. The area looks clear, and they climb over the fence, planning to go around the block and then circle back to get the car.

Going back for the vehicle, though, was the mistake. They should have kept walking, or running, until they were in a safe enough area to just take another car; not like Daryl couldn’t have hot-wired one; he’d done that before. But they didn’t do that, and now they are faced with an enormous herd, one much too large for them to fight their way out of or around. The herd is still paying more attention to the house they were just in and the car they came in, and they have just enough time to sneak away unnoticed.

But as they’re just about to turn and run, a few of the walkers pick up their scent. Soon enough the whole pack of dead things is coming after them, and the two men are racing to beat the devil through the deserted suburban streets, desperately searching for some place safe to go to.

Rick asks himself why he didn’t recruit more people to come along for the run, why he decided it would just be better for him and Daryl to go on their own. It all boils down to the fact that Rick wanted some alone time with the redneck, just a few hours all to themselves, because back at the prison they rarely even see a few minutes worth of peace like that. He wishes now that he had just done the smart thing and brought Michonne and Tyreese, since they had asked to come in the first place.

“Where do we go?” Rick shouts to Daryl as they run, the thudding of their boots on the concrete matching his heartbeats.

“Ain’t nowhere to go.” Daryl mumbles, almost too quiet for Rick to hear him.

And Daryl is right, because the herd has somehow multiplied and is now spilling from every intersection they pass; Rick is vaguely reminded of his first day in Atlanta when he rode that horse into the overrun city.

“There!” Rick points to a place just ahead of them, in the middle of the cul de sac they now find themselves in.

The house is a two story, and fuck if it doesn’t look gorgeous and pristine, as if angels built it there just for the two men running right towards it. There is something special about this house, something drawing them near, and Rick picks up his pace to reach it just that much faster. He turns his head slightly to read the street sign: Ash Tree Lane; the name seems somehow important.

Daryl matches Rick’s pace, keeping up with him step for step, and in just a few seconds they are barreling through the, thankfully unlocked, front door.

Daryl slams the door behind them and locks it, the deadbolt hitting home with a very final sounding thud. The herd has already reached them, their insistent pounding on the door, windows, and walls of that place sounding a lot like a vicious hail storm.

“Walls’ll cave in before we find a way outta here, Rick.” Daryl says, his shoulder brushing against the sheriff’s as he backs away from the door

Rick knows Daryl is right, but this was their only option. They’ll find a way out, of course they will, because miracles like this house don’t just appear one minute to turn into curses the next.

Rick doesn’t reply, though; instead he quickly explores the downstairs area, searching for a back or side entrance that could lead away from the herd outside; no such luck. He darts upstairs, Daryl close on his heels, searching every room. Still they find no suitable exit, and are finally forced to return downstairs, where the groans and growls of the horde outside have grown exponentially louder.

When they get downstairs, however, they see something that stops them dead in their tracks. Laid into a wall with two large windows overlooking the backyard is a door, like the kind that would normally cover a hall closet; that door wasn’t there before they went upstairs.

“How the fuck did that get here?” Daryl mutters in astonishment, his eyes widening slightly as he stares at the simple wood paneling and framing of the door.

“Maybe we missed it when we were down here the first time? We are kind of frenzied.” Rick suggests, but that doesn’t sit quite right with either of them, because they both know for a fact that this damn door just appeared out of thin air.

Rick steps forward, moving toward the door, his fingertips just about to connect with the knob, when Daryl’s hand falls roughly on his shoulder. Rick turns and meets panicked, jumpy blue eyes, filled with worry and something close to fear.

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, Rick.”

Rick’s jaw tightens as he deliberates, looking between Daryl and the door. It may not have been there a few minutes ago, but it could be their only way out of that place.

“There aren’t many ideas left, Daryl.” And with that Rick shrugs the redneck’s hand off of his shoulder, and throws the door wide open.

What greets them isn’t the backyard, which is what the doorway should have opened onto, but is rather a hallway that extends about ten or fifteen feet and is pitch black. Perhaps it’s just the lack of light, or perhaps it’s just Rick’s mind playing tricks on him, but he swears he can feel cold air radiating outward from the hallway, as if he has just opened a freezer door. This air is much colder than just a freezer, though, and Rick believes that maybe you’d have to go down to Antarctica to find a temperature this low.

Rick turns back to Daryl, his face a mixture of confusion and wonder. Daryl is shifting his weight from foot to foot restlessly, his fingers clenching and unclenching around his crossbow, his teeth firmly planted in his bottom lip.

“I ain’t goin’ in there, Rick.” Daryl says, his voice no more than a whisper.

The sound of shattering glass snaps both of their heads in the direction of the kitchen, where the large window above the sink has been broken in by the force of the walkers pushing against it.

“I don’t know that you have much choice, Daryl.”

Rick has made up his mind that he is going into that hallway no matter what, because it could be his only chance for survival, and there’s no way in hell he’s going to let Daryl just stay behind to be torn apart. If Daryl doesn’t go in there willingly with Rick then Rick will just grab his arm and force him in there, and that’ll be that.

Daryl lets out a sharp exhale, and then breathes in deeply, closing his eyes as his lungs fill with air. He is terrified of that dark hallway in front of them, but he realizes all too quickly that it is their only means of escape from the herd planning to tear the house down. He doesn’t want to die, and he sure as hell doesn’t want Rick to die, and if that means he has to go down that hallway then so be it; as long as he has Rick by his side he’ll be able to face the unknown.

As soon as he has finished his breathing exercise, Daryl turns back to Rick, their eyes locking. Rick can see the resolve in them, and he is filled with something too close to hope to be any good. But there’s not time to dwell on hope or anything else, because the walkers have begun to push their way into the house.

Without a word Daryl grabs Rick’s hand tightly, and together they run into the dark hallway.

~ ~ ~

Inky blackness surrounds the two men the instant they set foot into the hallway, and they both place a hand to the wall closest to them so that they will be able to feel another opening. After just a few steps Rick’s hand falls away from the wall and into empty air, and he urgently tugs Daryl in the direction of the new entryway he has found.

Again they place their hands to the walls, and this time Daryl is the one to tug Rick as his hand falls into an empty space. A few more turns in either direction, and suddenly they are in an area with no walls to touch. The area is either very, very large, or they have reached the edge of eternity where there is nothing else.

Daryl fumbles around in his pocket for his spare matchbook, pulling away from Rick’s hand so that he can light a match. The small flame does nothing to illuminate the size of the place they are in, or give them any new sense of direction. He waves the small fire out as it burns down near to his fingertips, and lights another, this time turning around to try and find the way they came in. There is a wall behind them where their entryway should have been, and Daryl is so stunned that this time the flame really does burn his fingertips before he realizes he has to wave it out.

“Rick, where the fuck are we?”

Rick has no answer, because he himself has no idea. This place they are in is unnatural and confounding, and he’s starting to think they’d have had a better chance if they just faced the herd.

There is nothing here to guide them, nothing to help them get out, nothing to help them survive. There are no lights, just hallways branching off of yet more hallways, and now this wide open anteroom they are in. There seems to not be an end to this place, or at least not one that either of them can see in such darkness, and the cold chill filling the entirety of wherever they now stand is starting to take its toll on Rick. He is starting to shiver, though he’s trying desperately not to let it show.

Rick’s hand searches for Daryl’s, who grasps it tightly, their fingers twining together. They may not know where they are, but they’re together and they’re alive, and that’s what really matters.

~ ~ ~

The pair decide to just start walking around the anteroom, hoping to find another opening to somewhere else, or maybe a way out of this creepy place.

They have walked for maybe twenty minutes when Daryl suddenly stumbles, jerking Rick near off his feet with him.

“Hey, I think this is some kinda staircase.” Daryl says, his tone resounding with shock.

He has, in fact, stumbled onto the first step of a spiral staircase. He lights another match, showing many more steps, and this time drops the small flame rather than wave it out. The match falls and falls until he can no longer see its light; it never illuminates the bottom of the staircase.

“Whatcha wanna do?” Daryl asks, turning back to Rick even though he cannot see him.

“Go down. Maybe the exit’s on the bottom.”

~ ~ ~

They make their way down the stairs for what feels like hours, having to stop long before they reach the bottom. Rick gives Daryl’s hand a gentle tug, signaling that he needs to stop for a moment, and then carefully seats himself on the edge of the step he has just come down from.

Daryl sits beside the sheriff, scooting as close as possible to share the body warmth. He rifles around his pack for a moment before pulling out his poncho. Without a word Daryl stretches the poncho out as far as it will go and pulls it over both of their heads; it’s a tight squeeze, but somehow they both manage to fit, and the warmth they feel is too much of a blessing to complain.

“Why’d you bring the poncho?” Rick asks through clenched teeth, trying to keep his jaw from clattering up and down with the cold.

“Never know when y’might need it.” Is Daryl’s simple reply, and Rick doesn’t question him any further.

~ ~ ~

After dropping another match it becomes clear that the two men will have to spend the night on the staircase. The steps are long and wide enough for both of them to comfortably spread out beside each other.

Rick digs around in his pack for a few minutes before coming away with a flashlight he had forgotten he grabbed, along with two cans of vegetables and a small pack of beef jerky that is meant to be their dinner.

Realizing the importance of the flashlight they resolve to use it as little as possible, turning it off as soon as Daryl has successfully pried off the lids of the cans with his knife. The two eat in silence.

Daryl pulls two water bottles from his own pack, handing one over to Rick, and they both unconsciously drink a lot less than they need so that they can conserve the precious liquid.

They remain quiet as they settle in for bed, curling into each other’s warmth, facing each other. They link hands and bring their arms up to their chests, trying to force the heat to travel towards their centers.

“Daryl,” Rick speaks softly, his breath blowing over Daryl’s face in a pleasantly warm gust.

“Hmm?” Daryl hums, brushing his forehead against Rick’s.

“I’m sorry I got you into this. I’m sorry I got you stuck in here, in this house that doesn’t make sense.” Rick touches his nose to Daryl’s, the only gesture he can give along with his words that he hopes will equate a true apology.

“I reckon we’re both stuck in here. I followed ya in willingly, Rick.” Daryl doesn’t pull away from Rick’s gentle touch, but rather revels in it, pressing his nose just that much more against Rick’s.

Rick doesn’t say anything else, because he knows that Daryl will refuse to let him completely take the blame for their situation. Instead he searches for Daryl’s lips with his own, pressing a soft kiss to the hunter’s slack mouth.

Daryl instantly responds, molding his lips to Rick’s, both of them kissing the other with a hunger than can’t quite be satiated; after all, this could be the last time they get to be intimate with each other this way.

~ ~ ~

Daryl wakes first, and he instantly knows that something is wrong, aside from them being in a place that has no explanation. Rick is too still beside him, and there is no warm breath blowing over his face like there was when he fell asleep.

Daryl desperately grabs for the flashlight and turns it on, shooting the beam over Rick’s face. His eyes are closed, his face serene, but he’s much too pale, and his lips have lost their pink luster. Daryl presses a hand to Rick’s chest, feeling for the movement of his breathing or a heartbeat, anything that will prove to him that Rick is alive.

There is no rise and fall of Rick’s chest, no heartbeat pulsing under Daryl’s fingertips. Rick is dead.

Tears pour from Daryl’s eyes, and he grabs Rick by the shoulders, shaking him violently as if that will rouse him from this final slumber.

“Rick, no, y’can’t leave me, not like this.” Daryl mumbles through his tears, his words barely making it to his own ears.

Daryl knows this is all pointless, but he can’t stop shaking Rick’s body, can’t stop crying and whispering and praying the man will wake up any minute now. Rick stays stiff in Daryl’s hands.

Rick froze to death in his sleep due to the below freezing temperatures of the place they are stuck in, and Daryl can’t help but wish that it had been him instead. Soon enough Rick will turn, and Daryl will have to put him down, but for now they have this final moment together.

Daryl leans forward to press one last kiss to the dead man’s lips, and then pulls back, frantically wiping at his eyes to rid them of tears. He retrieves his pack and his crossbow, but when he tries to find Rick’s pack he finds that it is no longer there; where it disappeared to he has no clue.

He decides that he will leave Rick be and let the change take place, because he no longer has any fear of walkers, not now that he is trapped in this labyrinth. He also decides that he will try to reach the bottom of the staircase and then continue on, perhaps even try to find a way out, because that’s what Rick would have wanted him to do.

With one last look at Rick, Daryl shuts off the flashlight and continues down the stairs.

~ ~ ~

Daryl eventually does reach the bottom after a few hours of descending, and his entire body is aching from the cold and the effort he has exerted. But he presses onward, because he has no other choice.

He keeps one hand on the wall to feel for entryways, turning as he finds them. He has been wandering for quite a while when a ferocious growl tears through the silence. He raises his crossbow, turning in every direction to find the threat, though he wouldn’t be able to see it even if it were right in front of him.

That growl terrifies him more than anything else about that place, and he has begun to quiver from something other than the cold. Daryl has often proclaimed not to be afraid of anything, but an unexplained growl in a place where he cannot see his enemy strikes a nerve deep in his soul, and damn if he doesn’t start praying right then and there for some kind of deliverance from this place, even if that deliverance is death.

~ ~ ~

Daryl finishes off the last of the water in his bottle and tosses it aside, the small clinking of the plastic against a wall echoing in the room around him. There is no food left; all of it was in Rick’s pack. His poncho is not nearly warm enough to keep out the chill of the place, not without Rick beside him for the extra heat. He is slowly dying, and he knows it; the dehydration will kill him within a day or two, if he doesn’t freeze to death first like Rick did.

There is no way out of this place, no exit aside from the one that he and Rick ran into when trying to escape the herd. What a huge mistake that had been; Daryl wishes now that they had just taken their chances with the horde.

Daryl is exhausted from his wandering, and weak due to lack of food and water. His energy levels are much too low for him to try to get up and find somewhere else to lay his head, let alone continue searching for another way out. All he can do is sit on the floor, toy with the crossbow in his hands, and think.

So think he does. His thoughts touch on everyone in his life that he has ever cared about: Merle, Carol, Lil’ Asskicker, Michonne, Andrea, T-Dog, Glenn, Maggie, Hershel, Carl, Beth, even Lori, before finally settling on Rick.

Rick, his closest friend, the only man he ever truly loved. Rick, who was the best leader their group could have asked for, who tried so hard to keep everyone safe and help those he couldn’t. Rick, who ended up freezing to death in some place that shouldn’t even exist.

And then Daryl is crying again, his tears the only warmth anywhere on his body. He is crying for the man he loved and lost, for the outcome they were forced to choose together to try and survive. He is crying because not only is Rick gone, but soon he will be, too, and no one will ever know what happened to them, not really. He is crying because he is too lost to find his way home, and he feels like that little boy in the woods again, wandering for days on end and having to wipe his ass with poison oak.

Finally Daryl’s tears dry, simply because he is too tired to continue letting them fall. He clutches the crossbow tightly to his chest, his only talisman, and falls asleep.

Daryl never wakes up.

**Author's Note:**

> I dedicate this story to the lovely Ghost, not because she asked for it, but because she deserves it. Even though I don't think she's read House of Leaves (this book is pretty underrated, even though it's amazing), she does watch Walking Dead and adores the Dick pairing about as much as I do, if not more so.   
> Without her continued support I don't know how many of my fics would have actually gotten written. She comments on every Daryl/Rick thing I put out, and encourages me to be the best I can be with every chapter I update.   
> It's about damn time I dedicated something to her, even if it is just a creepy one-shot that concerns our OTP dying. Hey, she loves reading angst and I love writing it, so there you go. 
> 
> Thank you, Ghosty, for everything. I hope you liked the story. And even if you didn't, that's okay, because I can always write something else for you.


End file.
